


A New Life

by colls



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn_50states, Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colls/pseuds/colls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1970, Rufus Turner arrived in Baltimore to start a new life. He winds up in one of the most haunted neighborhoods of the city. Written for <a href="http://50states-spn.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><b><a href="http://50states-spn.livejournal.com/">50states_spn</a></b></p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Life

Sitting with his head resting against the cold glass window on a passenger train, he was heading off to start a new life. Mama had family in Baltimore. Well, not a lot of family, but she had an older sister named Valarie. She'd moved there when her husband had gotten a job in the steel mill. Rufus had only met Aunt Val once as a child when she visited them for Thanksgiving. He remembered an older woman who wore bright colored dresses and smelled like flowers. He also remembered that she had a wide smile and kept hard candy in her purse. Aunt Val was several years older than his mother and the sisters had different fathers. No one felt the need to explain much more to Rufus at the time. Now he wished he had asked.

The conductor announced they were arriving at Baltimore's Penn Station. Rufus folded up his city map and tucked it into his pocket. Gathering his duffel bag, he stepped off the train and followed the crowd out to the Charles Street exit. Aunt Val said she lived near Johns Hopkins Hospital, which didn't seem too far away.

It was dusk by the time he knocked on the door of a rowhouse. The wind had picked up and the cold February air seemed to blow right through his thin coat. The streetlights weren't lit and nothing about the area seemed particularly inviting. Not until the door opened and warmth spilled out onto the sidewalk. Aunt Val abandoned her cane, pulled him into a bear hug and held him impossibly hard for such a petite woman.

“I'm so sorry about your mama.”

She still smelled like flowers. Rufus closed his eyes and held on. Thankful beyond reason to hug a woman he hadn't seen since he was a child. Aunt Val eventually pulled away, but slowly. Like she didn't want to stop giving.

“You get yourself in here and warm up. We were just about to sit for supper.” She leaned in and whispered to him. “Jackie cooked. She's not very good at it. Don't worry, if you're still hungry after, I've got some beef stew we can heat up when she leaves.”

Rufus was carried along into the house, his jacket placed on a coat rack near the door. He was introduced to Jackie, Aunt Val's daughter-in-law who lived a couple blocks away. Her husband, Derek, worked on the docks down by Canton. Aunt Val's other son, Dennis, was in Vietnam.

Jackie smiled and shook his hand. “We didn't know what time you'd be here, or if you'd have eaten. So, don't you worry, I made plenty. I hope you like roasted chicken and potatoes.”

“It sounds wonderful. Thank you, ma'am.”

Aunt Val waved him away from the table. “You go on up stairs and put your bag in your room. It's the first one on the left. The bathroom is at the end of the hall. You settle yourself in and get washed up. Come down when you're ready. Supper'll keep for that.”

Rufus nodded. “Yes ma'am.”

He deposited his bag on the floor in the first room on the left, the one with a twin bed and a small chest of drawers and a radiator under the window that hissed slightly. In the bathroom, he washed his hands and ran water across his face. Heading towards the stairs, he paused when he heard the women talking.

“I just don't want to see him taking advantage of you, is all. He doesn't need to be living off you just because his momma died.”

Aunt Val's voice was firm and laced with steel. “He's my kin. My sister's boy. Of course, he's welcome here. Just as much as you are. The boy has just lost everything. He ain't got no one else and I don't want to hear one word against him. You hear me?”

An image of his mother when she was angry crossed his mind, and Rufus wanted to smile. But an image of how he'd last seen her came to him instead - her eyes, wide and terrified - and his breath caught in his throat.

Rufus shook off the image and joined them for supper. Aunt Val was right about Jackie's cooking. The chicken was overdone and dry, the potatoes underdone and tough. He ate two helpings and praised it as the best meal he'd had all month, which wasn't a lie.

“Do you think Derek knows if there are jobs at the docks?” Rufus asked as Jackie was clearing the dishes.

Jackie looked startled. “I'm not sure. You a dock worker?”

“No, not many docks where I come from. I just thought it might be a good place to start looking for a job.”

Aunt Val shook her head patted his hand. “I'm not sure dock workin' is what you want.”

Aunt Val was, of course, right. Rufus had no desire to work on the docks. Instead, he found work several blocks south in a neighborhood called Fells Point. He worked a split shift, three hours in the morning and six in the evening, as a bar back at _The Horse You Came In On_. The job was mostly hauling beer kegs around and cleaning bathrooms; not glamorous by any means, but it was work.

The bar boasted that it was the oldest continuously operated bar in Baltimore and that Edgar Allen Poe drank there on the night he died. Of course, they also claimed that Poe haunted the place and played tricks with the cash register. Before his mama had died, Rufus wouldn't have given two thoughts about a ghost tale. Now, he found it hard to imagine any ghost being so benign. He tried to ignore the tales he heard, but the manager, Jack, seemed to talk about them all the time.

It had become a habit for Rufus to wander around Fells Point, especially in the afternoons between his shifts. He liked that the bars that weren't all white, weren't all black. He was pretty sure that patrons of these establishments knew what was going on in the rest of the country, but he was also pretty sure they couldn't be bothered with it – especially if it interfered with the business of drinking. He felt most comfortable at _The Cat's Eye_ , which was directly across the street from where those new tug boats had moved in.

Tony, the owner's son and bartender of _The Cat's Eye_ , was an amicable sort and not much older than Rufus. He was content to let Rufus sit at the bar and nurse along a weak beer for a couple of hours and didn't give him grief or try to talk him into pricier concoctions.

One afternoon, a couple of the tug boat operators came into _The Cat's Eye_ at the end of their shift. Boisterous and with a day's worth of work behind them, they were loud and looked as if they dared anyone to say anything about it. Rufus nodded as they came in, but otherwise decided it best to ignore them.

“So Henry didn't show up to work yesterday either?” The shorter of the operators asked.

“Nope. Randall went to his house, too. Wife wasn't very cooperative, but eventually he figured out he hadn't been home neither.”

“What was wrong with his wife?”

“She didn't want no visitors on account of her having walked into a door.”

“What's that mean?”

“It means she was naggin' on Henry so much about having a drink or two that he needed to remind her who was boss.”

“What's that gotta do with a door?”

“Boy, you sure are a dense one. She was sportin' a shiner 'cause Henry had to hit her.”

“Oh.”

“Although I always told Henry he should keep his temper in check and not go off using his fists on her face. Especially if he wants her working that job as a cashier at the market.”

Rufus gritted his teeth and continued to drink his beer. He had a healthy dislike for men who thought it was their place in the world to beat on their wives.

His father had been a mean son of a bitch, no two ways about it. He was a mean drunk, and only slightly less mean sober. He never laid a hand on Rufus, but he laid plenty on his mother. Perhaps it was a good thing that he also picked fights with strangers in bars when he drank, because he was killed in a bar fight when Rufus was ten. His momma stood straighter after that, didn't hunch down like she was trying to hide herself. He might not have been getting the best grades, but Rufus was smart enough to know what it all meant.

That was a bit more than a decade ago. Nearly forgotten. His mother had never remarried, determined not to give another man that sort of control over her. She'd worked hard and paid off the small house they lived in. They weren't well off by any means, but Rufus never went to bed hungry. All in all, his mother had done right in her life and no one could say a bad word about her.

Then the bar his daddy died in was torn down just after Thanksgiving this past year. That's when his daddy started beating his momma again.

One of the other regulars had steered the conversation on to where their co-worker might have disappeared to, and had suggested that perhaps Henry had been spirited away. Fells Point, after all, was known for its ghosts.

Suddenly, everyone in the place has a ghost story to tell and the bar was a cacophony of competing tales and raucous laughter. _The Cat's Eye_ used to be a bordello and it was common knowledge that some of the ladies are still waiting for customers.

The tug boat operators cajoled Tony into telling the story of how the red lights, once used by the ladies upstairs to indicate they were available, would still sometimes turn on and off. The thing that made that odd was that the lights weren't wired anymore. In fact, they didn't even have bulbs. Only the panel remained as it was welded onto one of the steel studs that held up the roof.

One story lead to another and folks were retelling the Edgar Allan Poe tale as well as seeing how many patrons had seen William Fell wandering the streets drunk on nights with a full moon. Every time Rufus turned around in this neighborhood, he was running into ghost stories.

He nodded to Tony, paid for his beer and left to go to work. He idly pondered getting another job, one that wasn't in Fells Point. He'd had enough of this ghost shit.

That night, he dreamed of his mother's death again.

The ghost of his father had returned after the building he died in was torn down. Rufus tried to fight him off and couldn't. Stories had been going around town that his father wasn't the only one that had come back. One night when his father's ghost was particularly angry, it threw his mother clear across the room in an unnatural rage. It then began choking Rufus, pinning him to the wall.

A older white man with a scraggly beard burst into the house, pointed a sawed off shotgun at his father and fired. His father disappeared in a puff of smoke and Rufus fell to the ground, gasping for air.

“Ma!” he yelled, as he rushed to his mother. Her neck sat at an odd angle and her eyes were wide with both terror and death.

“Ma!” He bolted upright from the bed, sweat covering his face.

When he wandered down to the kitchen, Aunt Val was already there making him a cup of tea and pouring in some whiskey. She didn't say a word, didn't ask; she merely sat with him until dawn.

At work, he overheard Jack talking, saying how odd it was that there'd been a resurgence of ghost stories. “It's really not the time of year for it. Usually the fall brings out the ghost tales. Halloween and warmer weather is a good combination for it, helps the bar business around here. February? Makes no sense.”

That night, on the way home he walked up Thames Street and passed the City Pier at the end of Broadway where the tug boats were moored. One of them had its engines running and appeared to be either coming in or going out. Rufus had learned that the shipping lanes never closed and large cargo vessels would need to be maneuvered in 24 hours a day. So it wasn't odd to see activity at the tugs at all hours.

Across the street, he saw an apparition consume a man. He had no other words to describe what was happening. Frozen in place, he didn't even move when the apparition turned to him. Its face was distorted and hideous. It opened its mouth to scream at him, livid with anger, but no sound came out. It charged towards him, then disappeared like a television program someone had shut off, only to reappear directly in front of him a moment later. It seemed to consider Rufus for a moment before continuing its silent tirade. It faded away as the tug boat blew its horn. Rufus could feel his heart beating hard and fast in his throat as he let our his breath. As soon as his feet obeyed him, he hurried home.

He thought he knew what happened to Henry now. He'd not disappeared, a ghost ate him.

Before his morning shift, Rufus ducked into the pay phone to call Jacob Bauman, the hunter he'd met when the ghost of his father was murdering his mother. Thankfully, Jacob was home and answered.

In an anxious rush, Rufus outlined everything that happened the day before. Jacob listened calmly and then began offering instructions in a calm, steady voice. Rufus balked, “I ain't no hunter.”

“Well who else is gonna do it?”

“I was kinda hoping you'd come out. Or maybe you know someone already in Baltimore?”

The hunter snorted. “You think we got our own Yellow Pages or something? You're there. You deal with it.”

Rufus didn't want to deal with it. It wasn't that he was scared, exactly. It was just that... okay, he was scared.

Jacob sensed his hesitation and sighed. “Tell me again where in Baltimore you are.”

Rufus relayed the details.

“Okay, it's gonna take me at least three days to get there. In the meantime, you do some research.”

Rufus nodded. He had already planned on talking with Tony to see if there really were more ghost stories going on than usual or if it was just Jack's imagination.

“And I don't mean talking to more bartenders. Go find the library.”

Rufus wondered if the hunter was a mind-reader.

Between his shifts that day, Rufus walked a block up to Fleet Street and over to Ann Street where Aunt Val had told him there was a small branch of the Enoch Pratt Free Library. He wasn't really sure where to begin, he'd never been particularly fond of these types of projects during school. After twenty minutes of aimless browsing, he decided to ask the librarian.

“Are you interested in just the business establishments on Thames Street near the water, or do you want ones up Broadway, too?”

“I think I'll start with the ones by the water.”

“And how far back did you say you wanted to look?”

“How far back does it go?”

“Fells Point used to be its own town before it got swallowed up by the big ol' city. It's been here just about forever. ”

Rufus looked down at his hands. He wasn't really sure what to do next. The librarian took pity on him.

“Tell you what, I've got a couple pamphlets here put out by the Historical Society that talk about Fells Point and our history. Why don't you take a gander at that and see if you can't narrow down your interest.”

“Thank you, ma'am.” Rufus took the pamphlet to a nearby desk and eagerly began reading.

He learned that Fells Point was founded in 1730 by a man named William Fell. It was mostly a shipbuilding and commercial center, but William's son expanded the area by laying down streets and setting up home sites. The area became part of Baltimore City in 1797.

Despite shipbuilding enterprises moving on after the Civil War, Fells Point remained tied to the shipping industry. Rufus read through paragraphs about manufacturing jobs coupled with waves of immigration from various countries. He figured that explained why the bank was German sounding while the church was Ukrainian. He read about urban decay and the revival of the entertainment district, which he figured was the category his bar job fell under.

What he didn't read about were tug boats. Then he remembered that they'd just moved to the neighborhood not too long after he did. He even remembered the name of the company - Curtis Bay Towing Company. He walked back to the librarian's desk.

He didn't figure they indexed things like “ghosts” or “life-sucking-entities”, so he thought he'd start with tug boat operators who died on the job. He had expected to find quite a few, but he hadn't. While it seemed like a hard job, most tug boat operators must have been competent, because there weren't a lot of accidents reported.

By the time he reported back to work, he was armed with a good deal of information about several maritime businesses in the area, the tug boats in particular.

“Have you ever heard of a tug boat being haunted?” Rufus asked Jack during a lull in the evening crowd at the bar.

“I didn't think you were one for ghost stories.” Jack replied, not bothering to look at him.

Rufus shrugged. “Ain't much else going on.”

Jack was polishing glasses, peering into one periodically like it held the answer to Rufus's question. “The tug boats ain't been here but a month, already you want to know if they're haunted?”

“Sometimes a place holds angry spirits in. When it's tore down it let's them out. Maybe the boats moving dredged something up.”

Jack turned and considered Rufus for a moment. “Is that so?”

“Well, that's what I hear.” Rufus said, noncommittally.

“A buddy of mine who worked over near Pratt Street used to tell tales about them tug boats. Said there was one that used to swallow up folks who happened by at the wrong time.”

“Swallow up folks?”

Jack laughed. “ 'Course, he was full of shit half the time. The other half he was as drunk as a skunk.”

The next day Rufus went to the library again. He began looking into unexplained deaths around the old pier, but he didn't find much. He did find an incident of a man killed when one of the tug boats had returned from maneuvering a cargo ship into the port.

In the early days, tug boats had rope fenders to protect them against the larger ships they pushed around. In the 1920's those fenders had begun to be replaced by tires, the rubber having several advantages - like not freezing and not housing as many rats.

Some of the old timers had to relearn how to manage with the rubber versus the rope. Rope had a tendency to cushion and hold on to a larger vessel while rubber would bounce a tug off the target.

During the 1930's there was an old timer working the tugs in Baltimore who still used the ropes. Late one night, a homeless man lay sleeping on the docks. Whether he'd been drinking or not had been debated – the tug boat operator sure that he'd blown his horn loud enough to wake the dead and insisted the man must've already been dead or dead drunk. Regardless, when the tug returned, it somehow pinned the man between the ropes and the dock. His body wasn't discovered until the next morning and his identity was never published.

Rufus was very excited for all he had found and spoke at length about it that night with Aunt Val. He left out the apparition he'd seen, and the missing people. He didn't want to alarm anyone or have them question his sanity. He presented it as it was presented in the bars; as a tale of entertainment and mischief.

Jackie and Derek were there for dinner and Derek chimed in. He recalled hearing stories, too. According to Derek, twenty years after the unknown man's death, there had been some talk about him. Folks had reported seeing his likeness hanging around Pratt Street looking for handouts. For reasons that remain obscure, he soon vanished from local lore after that.

“A homeless man who probably starved to death.” Aunt Val decided. “His ghost was just as hungry as he was in life. Poor thing.”

Jacob Bauman arrived the next day. Derek had always claimed that the only white people who ever showed up were cops or social workers. And indeed, the short, stocky white man seemed very out of place in Aunt Val's neighborhood.

“I'm Jewish, if that helps.” Jacob said as way of greeting. Rufus became even more convinced that the man was clairvoyant. “I'm sorry I'm late. It's Saturday and I had trouble finding a synagogue on this side of town.”

Aunt Val welcomed him into her home with warmth and hospitality. She cornered Rufus in the kitchen shortly after.

“What are you doing mixed up with white folks?”

“What are you talking about? I work for white folks. I talk with white folks down in Fells Point all the time.”

“That's different. They ain't in your home.”

“He helped me when mamma died.”

Aunt Val paused, waiting for Rufus to say more.

“He's helping me now, too.”

“Is this about them ghosts?”

Rufus nodded.

An hour later, Rufus and Jacob are walking up to the docks near the tug boats. Jacob's only question was whether they'd recognize Rufus and his only instructions were to follow his lead.

Rufus didn't say a word during the entire exchange. Jacob had boldly walked up to the captain of the tug, 'McAllister', and had flashed a badge claiming to be some sort of official who was there for a spot inspection. Rufus was his 'assistant' or 'trainee' that the government had insisted upon. Jacob was condescending enough about it that the captain bought it all and didn't hesitate to invite them on board and show them around.

By the end of the faux-inspection, Jacob had learned that the captain had re-laced the tire fenders with rope from the warehouse just prior to the move from Pratt Street. And yes, it was old rope, and had even been used on that very same tug in the past. The captain claimed that the old rope hadn't deteriorated at all, which was some sort of good luck because rope that old should be stiff and easily broken. He was very insistent on showing Jacob what good shape his fenders were in, rope and all.

Rufus wanted to ask more questions about the warehouse and the rope, but Jacob merely nodded, shook the captain's hand and departed.

“Where's this library you've been working out of?”

“Just a couple blocks that way.”

“I'll meet you back at _The Cat's Eye_ in an hour,” and Jacob walked off.

As promised, Jacob arrived an hour later. He scanned the bottles behind the bar and ordered a Johnny Walker Black, neat. He settled onto the bar stool next to Rufus and considered his drink.

“So...” Rufus prompted, wanting to know what was next.

“Do you know why I ordered a Johnny Walker Black?”

“No.”

“Because I can't afford Johnny Walker Gold and I'm not quite hard up enough for Johnny Walker Red right now.”

“And how is that important?”

“Good scotch is always important, Rufus. It's a rare day when I can afford Johnny Walker Blue, but a man can dream.” Jacob sighed and took a drink. “Ever heard of a salt and burn?”

Rufus shook his head. Jacob outlined his plan for the ropes, which he believed were responsible for holding the vengeful spirit here.

“No time to remove the ropes, we'd surely get caught doing that. We'll just have to burn them on the tug. Which means we'll have to make sure no one's on board – just in case it gets out of control.”

 

Dawn was just breaking through the grey sky when they arrived back at Aunt Val's rowhouse. Rufus quietly turned the key in the lock and slowly creaked the door open, hoping not to wake her. The pair were filthy and they smelled of smoke, seawater, beer and rot.

“I can smell you from here. You better not be trailing all that muck into my house,” Aunt Val's voice called from the kitchen.

“No ma'am.” Rufus began removing his shoes. Jacob stood near the door, not quite sure what to do.

When she walked into the room, her gaze shifted between them noting all the dirt. It wasn't that she was angry, exactly, more like confused and not sure which reaction was the most appropriate. Finally, her gaze rested on Jacob's face and she began to laugh.

“Oh lordy, you finally look like you belong in this neighborhood. You're darker than Rufus right now.”

Rufus turned to Jacob, who's face was covered with soot and ash. He began laughing, too, while Jacob uselessly rubbed his face with his hands.

“Go on and clean up, you two,” Aunt Val gestured for Jacob to go first. “Towels are in the closet in the hall.”

Rufus couldn't remember the last time it felt so good to be clean. Aunt Val was setting out a large breakfast and chatting amicably with a soot-free Jacob as he came down stairs. The smell of fresh coffee and bacon made his mouth water.

Aunt Val handed him a heaping plate of food and said, “Jacob here was just telling me about your ghost.”

Rufus turned to Jacob, surprised.

“It's not like she hadn't figured most of it out, Rufus.”

“I thought you had a policy of not lettin' folks in on things if they didn't need to know.”

Jacob nodded thoughtfully, spreading blackberry jam on his toast. “Well, generally that's the case. There are exceptions though. Rare as they may be. I believe I explained quite a bit to you last time we met.”

Rufus opened his mouth to speak, then turned to Aunt Val and decided to stay quiet. He took a few more bites of eggs instead, not meeting her gaze.

Aunt Val reached her hand across the table and placed it over his. “Rufus, how did my sister die?”

Rufus shook his head, stood and walked out of the room. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell her, it was that he couldn't bear to relive it. He heard Jacob's soft voice and knew he was explaining everything.

He walked into the kitchen a while later while Aunt Val was doing dishes. She turned to him, dried her hands, wound her arms around him and held him tight for a moment. She then stood back and handed him a towel. “You can dry, before you go.”

Rufus took the towel and began drying dishes. “I'm not going to work today, I called in.”

“I meant before you leave. I think Jacob has his car packed, he's just waiting for your bags.”

“Leave?”

“He said you were good at this sort of thing. Had a knack for it, especially for figuring out what was what. And, Rufus, that man ain't getting' any younger. Imagine him out there fighting monsters all on his own,” she clicked her tongue in dismay. “He needs someone like you looking out for him.”

Rufus nodded. Aunt Val was, of course, right. He realized it's what he'd wanted to do all along -- hunt things, save people.

Rufus left Baltimore only a few short months after arriving. Sitting in the passenger seat of an old Buick with a trunk full of salt and silver, he was heading off to start a new life.

**Author's Note:**

> Tug boats are one of my favorite pieces of the Baltimore Inner Harbor area. Much of the worker seaport of Baltimore has turned into loft apartments and tourist destinations, but remnants of it cling to the edges of neighborhoods like mine - Fells Point. ~~At least until last year when the tug boats left my neighborhood~~ *weeps* The Port of Baltimore is still one of the most active ports on the Eastern Seaboard, much of the activity happening a few miles away now.
> 
> As an centuries old seaport, you can't throw a stick without hitting a ghost stories about sailors and brothels, but what isn't eerie about the lonely note of a tug boat horn? Did you know they sound exactly like trains? There's a meta in that, I'm sure of it.
> 
> Some random stuff about Baltimore/Fells Point/Tug boats that influenced this fic or stuff you might find interesting (or maybe not).
> 
> 1) The race riots of 1968  
>  _Like several cities in the USA, following the assassination of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., Baltimore erupted into violence that lasted for several days_  
> [Baltimore '68](http://archives.ubalt.edu/bsr/index.html)  
>  (Not directly used but not wholly ignored - this city historically has deep racial divisions.)
> 
> 2) Fells Point & her bars  
>  _With over 100 pubs to choose from, Baltimore's Fells Point neighborhood is a star of the pub-crawl circuit. Local ghosts are revealed by the enthusiastic guides of the Fells Point Ghost Walk._  
> [About Fell's Point](http://www.fellspoint.us/)  
> [General Fells Point Walking Tours](http://blog.pennlive.com/life/2011/10/walking_tours_follows_the_path.html)  
> [The Horse You Came In On](http://www.thehorsebaltimore.com/Site/Welcome.html)  
> [The Cat's Eye Pub](http://catseyepub.com/)  
> [Baltimore Ghost Tours](http://www.fellspointghost.com/about.html)
> 
> 3) Tug boats!!  
> [tug boats leave Fells Point](http://www.examiner.com/boating-in-baltimore/moran-tugs-leave-fell-s-point-for-last-time)  
> [Moran Tugs](http://www.morantug.com/port_baltimore.asp)  
> [Baltimore Tug wiki](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baltimore_\(tug\))  
> [more stuff about tug boats](http://historiccamdencounty.com/ccnews68.shtml)


End file.
